


The Black Book

by bagma



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagma/pseuds/bagma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silliness, sentimentalism, and Sam talking about "the relative exoticism of vegetables". So, definitely not canon.:)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An embarrassing find

"Frodo, are you sure you're feeling well ? You haven't started eating yet, and I've almost finished!" Sam exclaimed, sounding worried. Startled out of his reverie, Frodo gave him a guilty smile and grabbed his fork precipitately.

"I'm perfectly fine, Sam," he answered, and he tucked into his supper with ostentatious energy. But Sam knew his Frodo by heart; there was something amiss. He put his own fork down and crossed his arms.

"I know you, my dear; you're not alright, you're worried about something," he said firmly. "Now tell me. What's the matter?" Frodo shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Sam's loving but implacable gaze, then sighed, surrendering.

"You're right, Sam," he admitted. "It's this book."

"What book?"

"One of Bilbo's! I've found it in the library this afternoon, hidden under a stack of treatises on versification. I'd never seen it before, and you know I'm unable to resist opening a new book, Sam, and I'm starting to regret it," Frodo complained. He looked genuinely disturbed, and Sam frowned. It was not like Frodo to be so unhappy about a book; Sam had always seen him enthusiastic about his reading, carried away with admiration or moved to tears sometimes, but never so obviously disconcerted.

"Can I ask you what this book is about?" Sam said carefully, and he was surprised to see Frodo blush a little. He toyed with his carrots without looking at Sam, then raised his eyes and cleared his throat.

"Well. It's a little...Um... Hard to explain," he began, groping for words and blushing harder. He squirmed for a moment, then exploded: "Oh, I'd better show you!". He ran out of the kitchen and came back a instant later, carrying a heavy volume he dropped unceremoniously beside Sam's plate before sitting down again. He crossed his arms, mimicking Sam's earlier posture, and waited.

Sam considered the book closely. It looked old; the black leather binding was worn and discolored in places, and Sam could barely make out the title, written in faded purple characters: The Lavender Oil Tales . There was no author name.

Sam wiped his hands on his napkin and opened the book, a little apprehensive. He found the table of contents and began to peruse it. The first chapter was entitled, rather weirdly in Sam's opinion, On Carrots and Lavender Oil.

"Is that a cookbook?" he asked, surprised. Frodo's lips twitched.

"Not exactly," he said with an ironic smile. "You'd better read the subtitle, I think." Sam complied. 

Anal penetration with foreign objects

It took Sam several moments to understand the words and grasp their meaning. Then he said indignantly:

"But... but carrots aren't foreign objects!" Frodo's eyes widened in surprise and he burst out laughing; he sounded a little hysterical, Sam thought. Well, it was understandable; Sam was not feeling so steady himself; he couldn't believe he had just said something that stupid. As if the relative exoticism of vegetables was really the point!

"Sam, you're priceless!" Frodo managed to said between giggles. "But I can assure you carrots become foreign objects when you put them up your arse; and it's exactly what that book is about." Sam felt his jaw drop, and he too began to blush furiously. Torn between embarrassment and curiosity, he started reading again. The second chapter was called A Sweet Treat. Ass-play and rimming. 

Sam's eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. Frodo was right; the book was definitely not about cooking.

When Sam finished reading the table of contents, his face felt so hot that he was sure he could have used it to light the stove. He had also learned a lot of things he was sure he did not need to know ("Golden showers?" – "I think it means pissing on someone, Sam" – "Really?! Goodness!"), and he totally shared Frodo's embarrassment. He mopped his brow with his napkin and said, his voice wavering slightly:

"That was unexpected, to say the least. I suppose... I suppose that Mr. Bilbo bought that book out of intellectual curiosity." Frodo blanched.

"Oh, Sam, I hope so!" he exclaimed fervently. "I don't want to think he'd actually have... " He shook his head, as if he wanted to dislodge such an unfortunate thought from his skull, then, in an effort to pull himself together, he took a deep breath.

"So, Sam, what are we going to do with the book?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, and not entirely succeeding. Sam hesitated.

"I don't know. I can't see you throwing a book away... Maybe we should read some of these tales before coming to a decision, don't you think?" 

"It's a good idea. I've skimmed through the chapter 21, and... well, let me know what you think about it." Sam found the chapter 21 and started reading.

"Falco's buttocks felt like silk under Tim's hand, the skin warm and inviting. He caressed his lover for a little while, enjoying the perfect curves of Falco's taut arse and the barely perceptible tremor running through the proffered body. Then, without warning, he slapped Falco's left buttock as hard as he could, and the young hobbit gasped. Without letting his lover regain his breath, Tim hit him a couple of times, then paused to admire the way the ivory skin was slowly turning a lovely shade of pink. Falco was panting, and Tim could see tiny beads of sweat forming on his back.

'Are you ready for more?' Tim asked politely. It was the correct thing to do, even if he was in no doubt about the answer. As expected, Falco nodded in mute acquiescence, buried his face in his arms and spread his thights wider, exposing..."

Sam closed the book abruptly. It was worse than he imagined, really, and definitely a waste of paper. And yet... To be perfectly honest, he had to admit he didn't exactly hate these few lines. They shocked and embarrassed him, and that was a fact, but there was no denying the effect they had on his anatomy; he was too hot, and his breeches felt suddenly too tight. Oh, he'd never be able to tell Frodo about it!

"So, Sam, what do you think? Shall we keep the book?" Frodo insisted. Sam opened and closed his mouth several times, utterly at a loss for words. How on Middle-earth could you tell your lover that you found yourself thinking of him while reading a spanking scene, and that you'd like to try that on him, and that yes, of course you want to keep the book?

"Um," he said at last, and waited, eyes downcast, burning with embarrassment, for Frodo to press him for a more eloquent answer. But Frodo kept silent for several moments, then said softly:

"Sam, look at me." Sam raised his head hesitantly; Frodo was smiling at him, lovingly, tenderly, and he reached across the table to take Sam's hand. 

"Apparently we're on agreement, love..." He broke off and kissed Sam's knuckles. Sam let out a deeply relieved sigh. It was true that he knew his Frodo by heart, but obviously Frodo knew his Sam well, too. Sometimes they didn't have to talk to understand each other perfectly.

"I'm not going to think ill of you for finding that book... interesting, you know," Frodo went on without letting go of Sam's hand. "I feel the same about it, and I'll be very happy to use it as a source of inspiration, if you don't mind." Sam squeezed Frodo's fingers gratefully.

"I'm sure you've already guessed I'd like that very much," he answered. "But I don't think I'm ready to try everything yet," he added after a moment of reflexion.

"Neither am I, Sam, I can assure you," Frodo said, laughing. "Well, it's settled then; we'll put the book on the nightstand, just in case." He got up, but Sam hold him back.

"You need to finish eating first. It's not so urgent!" Grinning, Frodo sat down obediently and took his fork, but he put it down again after a quick glance at the congealed content of his plate. He looked a trifle nauseous.

"Could you pass me the cheese, Sam? I... I really don't feel like eating carrots right now."


	2. An unusual angle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is Sam hiding behind the curtains of Frodo's bedroom?

Sam shifted uncomfortably and wiped his sweaty hands on the fabric of his breeches, feeling awkward and extremely embarrassed. From his hidding place behind the curtains, he could not see much of Frodo's bedroom, but he had a good view of the bed. The green comforter, white sheets and yellow pillowcases shone softly in the candlelight. 

It was a peaceful and familiar sight.

The door opened abruptly, and Sam almost jumped out of his skin. Of course he's going to bed, you ninny, he admonished himself sternly. It's time, and you've been waiting for it long enough anyway! He took a deep breath and willed his heart to stop pounding. 

It was not an easy thing to do, though, and Sam found it was getting more difficult by the second as he watched Frodo stretch with a yawn and begin to take off his braces, moving slowly and deliberately. He sat down on the bed, his back to Sam, and rolled his shoulders, letting the thin strips of blue fabric slide down his arms. He started undoing his white shirt, head bent, a crescent of fair skin showing through the silky locks of russet hair brushing his collar. The undressing proved to be a slow process, and Sam could not help smiling despite his uneasiness. He knew that shirt very well; it was adorned with an endless row of tiny buttons, and Sam liked to tease Frodo about it, stating that it was a garment only a hobbit of leisure could allow himself to wear, a piece of clothing that required a good five minutes of work just to put it on. Then Frodo removed the shirt, and Sam's smile froze.

In the soft flickering light, Frodo's back was almost as white as the fabric, but it looked softer that any satin or silk Sam had ever seen, and the faint rosy hue of that expand of perfect skin was almost the same as the colour of wild roses. Sam could not take his eyes off the delicate line of Frodo's spine and shoulder blades, and his fingers twitched, itching to reach out and caress those smooth curves. He swallowed hard and wondered, not for the first time, whether spying on Frodo was such a good idea after all; he was feeling more and more embarrassed, and a little ashamed of himself. His incertitude increased nearly to the point of discomfort as he saw Frodo get up again and start unfastening his breeches, and Sam decided he could not stand it any longer. He had to desert his post, and admit that he was not cut to be a voyeur.

It was not as if he had never seen Frodo without his clothes before, though. Actually, Frodo had been as naked as the day he was born the first time Sam had met him, and Sam still blushed in embarrassment every time he remembered how stupidly he had reacted to the unexpected sight of Bilbo's young cousin strolling through the kitchen by a warm Summer morning, hand extended, wearing nothing but a welcoming smile. Sam had dropped a basket full of eggs on the tiled floor and fled Bag End with a strangled cry, followed by the sound of Bilbo's hearty laugh and Frodo's worried questions. He was only thirteen then, and not at all accustomed to Frodo's casual attitude towards nudity. Now, fifteen years later, he was quite used to it, but that did not mean he was inured to Frodo's nakedness.

Sam's virtuous state of mind lasted the time it took for Frodo to shimmy his breeches down along with his undergarment, revealing firm rounded buttocks, and all idea of leaving his hidden place evaporated like drops of water falling on a hotplate. Sam stared at Frodo's perfect arse for what felt like an eternity, trying to control the rush of intense arousal that ran through him, and wondering dizzily why such a familiar sight, as lovely as it was, had so strong an effect on him tonight. He had not been so hard in months, and that was a fact.

Frodo threw his clothes on a chair with his usual carelessness and lay down with a happy sigh and a languorous stretch. He had not bothered to put his nightshirt on, and Sam was treated to the lovely spectacle of his master's lithe and well-proportioned body spread invitingly before his eyes. That delicious vision did little to dampen Sam's ardour, and his condition got only worse as he let his gaze follow the path Frodo's hand was idly tracing down his chest and tummy, rubbing and teasing rosy nipples and scratching the light trail of fine dark hair that ran from his navel to his groin. When the hand reached its ineluctable destination, Sam's breath caught. 

Mesmerized, he watched Frodo wrap his long fingers loosely around his cock; although not as hard as Sam's, it was well on the way to complete stiffness, thickening nicely under Sam's hungry eyes. Then Frodo pushed the foreskin away gingerly, exposing the heart-shaped head of his cock, swollen and almost purple in the candlelight. He licked his palm, wetting it thoroughly, and let his hand drop to his shaft, shivering a little as he slicked the silky skin and began to caress it.

Sam did not know how to call the noise that came from his mouth at this very instant. Surely it was not a whimper, was it? Cursing his treacherous body, he froze in alarm. For an uneasy moment he thought Frodo had heard him, but apparently the velvet curtains were thick enough to muffle any untimely sound, for he could see Frodo showed no sign of worry. He had his shaft firmly in hand and was stroking himself slowly and regularly with his eyes half-closed, a dreamy smile on his face. He looked nonchalant and relaxed, as though he had been rubbing his thigh or belly instead of his now very hard cock, and he was making small satisfied sounds that were slowly driving Sam to distraction.

Despite the open window, the air was hot and stifling behind the curtains. Sam undid the top couple of buttons on his shirt and mopped the beads of sweat on his forehead with his sleeve. It seemed Frodo too was beginning to warm up. His cheeks were pink, a fine sheet of sweat made his skin gleam like ivory, and Sam was sure he could smell him from where he stood, Frodo's heady scent mixed with the musk of Sam's own arousal going straight to Sam's cock. Frodo's hand quickened and he started to pant; the strong muscles in his thighs tensed as he shifted restlessly on the bed. He shuddered all over and spread his legs wider; his feet firmly planted in the mattress, he started pushing his shaft through his fist, rocking his hips and making the bed creak rhythmically.

It was a noise Sam liked very much. He had always found arousing the way that regular accompaniment punctuated the other sounds of love, the erratic sighs and irrepressible moans and cries that escaped from the lovers' lips; but tonight the arousal was so intense that it was nearly painful, and it became impossible for Sam to ignore it any longer. Pressing the palm of his hand to his erection, he was not surprised to find a damp patch on the fabric of his breeches, and he had to muffle a needy groan as he saw Frodo doing a very similar gesture. Fingers clamped tightly around the base of his cock, Frodo arched his back, his breath coming in small panicked pants, and Sam realized he had just staved off an imminent orgasm.

Well, his master clearly wanted to take his time, and as Sam was ready to spend the whole night watching Frodo pleasuring himself, he had no complaint whatsoever. The scruples that had tortured him before had been burned away by such a scorching spectacle, and Sam could barely remember why he had been so timorous a few minutes ago.

Frodo's next move was unexpected, though. Shaking himself, he let go of his cock, sat up on the bed and opened the nightstand. He fumbled for a second and came up with a familiar purple vial and something Sam had never seen before. It was a cylinder with a flared base, made of some dark wood, about the size of Sam's favourite dibber, and it really puzzled him. Then Frodo uncorked the phial and, pouring a generous amount of oil in his palm, set about to coat the mysterious tool thoroughly, caressing and stroking its smooth surface in a way that Sam could only describe as perfectly unambiguous. The strong scent of lavender wafted through the room, and it hit Sam at the same time as the sudden realization of what Frodo was about to do with the cylinder did. 

For a breathless moment, Sam wondered if it was possible for a hobbit to actually pass out from sheer arousal. His chest felt tight, like he had to struggle to breathe normally, his head was swimming, and the entirety of his blood seemed to have rushed south, leaving him barely able to string two thoughts together. Luckily, sight had not been affected by that sudden dizziness, and he could still see Frodo perfectly. Actually, he could see Frodo and nothing else, and it was more than enough to make Sam happy.

While Sam was busy trying not to faint, Frodo had been busy readying himself for the tool. He had lay down again and let his thighs fall open, exposing velvety balls and the dusky cleft between his buttocks; he had his index and middle finger in his hole and he was working them in and out slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration and his gaze unfocused. He continued stretching and pumping for a couple of minutes, his breathing shallow, then he took his fingers out with a low moan. Folding one leg so his knee nearly reached his chin, he grabbed the tool and positioned it at his opening. He began to push it in, carefully at first, then with more confidence as his body adjusted to the intrusion. His other hand went back to the damp head of his cock, and he whimpered.

Sam did whimper, too, but this time he could not care less, and he was fairly certain Frodo had not heard him anyway. A good portion of the tool had already disappeared into his arse, and Sam was unable to avert his eyes from the sight of the tight ring of muscle stretched around the dark wood. It was disturbing, obscene even. It was also the most arousing thing Sam had ever seen, and he had his breeches unbuttoned and his hand around his erection in a matter of seconds; he could feel his blood pulse under the heated skin, echoing the wild beat of his heart, and he barely managed to keep himself from exploding. He wanted to watch Frodo come, and he knew that it would be impossible for him to really savour the spectacle if he was lost in his own climax.

Luckily, it looked as if he would not have too long to wait. Frodo rolled over and went partly up on his knees, raising his arse higher than his shoulders and pressing one hand into the headboard to increase his leverage. He gripped the tool again and started riding it roughly, rolling his hips and moaning brokenly. Sam could make out Frodo's shaft, bobbing heavily between his thighs, and he found himself fervently wishing he was beside Frodo at this very moment, stroking his master's straining member and feeling that smooth hardness throb and swell further in his hand. Finally Frodo knelt upright without letting go of the tool and, clasping its base between his feet, grabbed his neglected cock with his free hand. He gave it several hard tugs, and his hips stuttered. Groaning, he rose and fell a couple of times, impaling himself mercilessly, then threw his head back with a hoarse cry as white ribbons of seed spurted out from his cock, drenching his thighs and belly. He kept stroking himself gingerly through his climax, his shout of ecstasy fading to small sated moans, and he collapsed back on the bed, panting and utterly spent.

Much to his surprise, Sam had managed to keep his composure and his eyes open all along. Of course, he had to squeeze his shaft tightly in his hand and he dared not to loose his grip for fear of losing the tenuous control he had on his body, but it seemed, rather unexpectedly, that he was going to end the evening wearing dry breeches. He was about to let go of his erection when he heard Frodo utter a deeply satisfied sigh and a Oh! Sam... rich with such blissful contentment that any idea of resistance disappeared from Sam's mind, swept away by the inexorable tidal wave of his climax.

****

When the world reconstituted around him and allowed him to regain a semblance of consciousness, he was sitting on the floor in wet breeches and Frodo was laughing.

"I can see you, Sam, you know. Your feet are sticking out from under the curtains..." 

Chuckling, Sam stood up with some difficulty and shuffled toward the bed on shaky legs, clutching at his breeches to keep them from falling. Frodo watched him cross the bedroom, a smug expression on his face.

"I gather you enjoyed the show, Sam," he said coyly, and Sam had to laugh.

"Enjoyed it? It nearly killed me!" he answered, stretching out on the bed next to Frodo and casting a look at the leather-bound volume sitting on the nightstand. "Mr. Bilbo's book is right, voyeurism is a wonderful thing. I'm glad we tried it, even if it was a little awkward for me at first. You were stunning, and I'll never forget the way you used that thing..." he gestured towards the tool Frodo had put on the nightstand. Frodo chuckled, blushing a little, and Sam hugged him to his chest. He inhaled deeply, drinking in the scent of him, sweat and lavender and semen, and felt his heart swell and ache with the intensity of his love.

"I was ill-at-ease at first, too, and I didn't know where you were hidden, and that made me feel uncomfortable, but then I heard you whimper behind the curtains, and... well, it was quite stimulating," Frodo replied, smiling against Sam's half-naked chest. He buried his nose in honey-coloured curls and snuggled up happily, nearly purring as Sam stroked his hair and pressed kisses on his brow, the tip of his nose, his lips. He seemed disinclined to move, and Sam would have been utterly content to stay like that forever, but after a few pleasant minutes spent in sharing cuddles and sweet meaningless endearments, it dawned on him that his contentment was somewhat spoiled by the uncomfortable sensation of damp corduroy sticking to sensitive skin.

"I'm afraid we need to wash up," Sam said at last, reluctantly disengaging himself from Frodo's embrace and sitting up with a groan. "And we really need to sleep, too... I have the distinct feeling the next fortnight is going to be exhausting," he concluded, patting Bilbo's book and smiling broadly.


End file.
